The Aggressor
by Beast of Bird Fowl
Summary: Holiday O'Conner is an ex-army sniper that has suffered almost complete hearing loss in her right ear, and for the last several weeks she's been trying to integrate back into society. Couple that with sleeping difficulties and alien attacks; it's hard for her to stay out of the game. But living in New York is bound to bring her along the paths of some interesting fellows...
1. Chapter 1

**BoB-F: Well, I guess I just need my fingers in as many pies as I can get my grubby little paws on.**

**Rath: But I rather like this one.**

**BoB-F: That's just because you think Jarvis is a celestial being.**

**Rath: He is magic, I do not care what you say!**

**BoB-F: He's tech, not magic. But I do agree, Jarvis is awesome.**

**Rath: I still don't know why you couldn't have made the entire story about Jarvis; he is deserving.**

**BoB-F: -_- We've been over this...Jarvis is a supporting character, and he will have ample air time.**

**Rath: Well...I don't like it. And I don't like you!**

**BoB-F: Jeez, calm down, you're starting to sound like Loki.**

**Rath: Do not compare me to that cur! I do not mate with horses!**

**BoB-F: Alrighty then... um. I don't own the Avengers, I only own my OC's and such. **

**Rath: You're ignoring me, I don't like being ignored!**

**BoB-F: Shut up! I'm trying to do a disclaimer here! Now, please enjoy the story.**

**Rath: You're such an ass...**

* * *

**The Aggressor**

**Chapter One: Take Me Out to the Ballgame**

Steve couldn't believe the day he was having. It was honestly turning out to be one of the most normal days he'd had since he had woken up. No missions, no world to save, it was just him and 40,000 other fans watching the New York Yankees play against the Los Angeles Dodgers.

He didn't know how to feel about the Dodgers not being owned by Brooklyn anymore, but at least he was getting to see them play again. Steve had been given two tickets by Director Fury, but seeing as he didn't really have any friends in this time, he opted to go alone.

The other fans were making up for his melancholy, cheering and heckling the players. Fury really had gotten him a great seat, right behind home plate. He could see the sweat drip down the back of the batters neck as he was struck out.

"HEY! Ump! Your optometrist called, you missed your last appointment!"

Speaking of fans, the woman sitting next to him had been shouting at the umpire before the game had even started. She was a young woman with chocolate brown hair that was laced through the back of her ball cap in a ponytail, and he had no idea what color her eyes were from the thick aviator sunglasses she was wearing.

"Hey, O'Connor, why don't you shut the hell up for one inning!?" The Umpire snapped at the woman, glaring in frustration after ripping his mask off to confront her. The woman - O'Conner grinned at the very angry fellow. She had to be a regular if she was being cussed out by the Ump, Steve mused.

"Don't be such a puss! You knew what you were getting into when you took the job. Now, put your little hat back on and pop a squat behind the plate like the good little girl you are." O'Conner gestured with the beer in her hand, while the other fans nearby 'oooh'ed at the scathing remarks she was dishing out.

Steve had heard about enough though, this rowdy woman was single handedly cowing the poor man, and Steve had never liked bullies. Steve stood up next to O'Conner, grasping her elbow to get her attention.

"Ma'am, I think it's time to leave the man alone." Steve frowned down at her, showing her how disappointed he was in her behavior. She turned to face him, still grinning like she had since she'd sat down. The woman paused to survey Steve, giving him a notable once over.

"Only 'cause you're so pretty, sweet cheeks." Were the words that left her mouth and if Steve didn't know any better he'd swear that she winked behind those thick sunglasses of hers. Steve couldn't believe the mouth on this woman, it was practically unreal.

"Ma'am." Steve warned, sighing as he retook his seat. O'Conner remained standing as a new batter took the plate. Steve wondered if she was going to go after this man too until she shoved her beer into his hand. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, the crack of the bat sounded in the hot June air. Seconds late,r O'Conner leapt onto her seat and caught the foul ball.

Steve was sure she was going to open her mouth to bitch at the batter when she stepped down from her chair. O'Conner looked down at the ball for a moment, then glanced down to the row in front of them. A little boy sat there, his knees in the seat with a look of awe on his face.

"Here ya go kid." O'Conner passed the ball to the little boy, who grinned a gapped tooth smile.

"Thanks lady!" He yelled, twisting around in his seat to show his dad. Steve was actually surprised to see the interaction, having deemed the woman to be a menace.

"Thanks for holding my beer." O'Conner took her beer and her seat to finish watching the rest of the inning. Steve took a long look at the woman; he'd merely been taking glances at her and rolling his eyes up until this point. O'Conner was wearing short blue jean shorts that showed off her lean tan legs and a tank top that dipped to show the tops of her breasts. All in all, Steve thought she was attractive, but her personality was lacking so all her attributes were for nothing in his book.

"You know, I've never had anyone stare at me in complete and utter contempt," O'Conner's voice startled Steve and at the realization of being caught he gazed down into the depths of his soda. "It's kind of refreshing. The name's Holiday O'Conner." She laughed and held her hand out, one that was just as tan as her legs. When Steve hesitated, she withdrew her hand, shrugging her shoulders and taking a long drink from her beer.

Steve didn't know if he wanted to get to know the woman, but he supposed it was only polite. The fact that she was the only one that had bothered to strike up a conversation with him may have been at play as well.

"I'm Steve, and for the record, I wasn't staring in _complete_ contempt." It was his way of trying to defuse the awkwardness, and by the widening grin on her face he had succeeded.

"Let me buy you a beer for putting up with me for as long as you did." Holiday didn't wait for his agreement and waved the concession boy down. A beer was tossed to her and she easily caught it with one hand and fished some cash out of her pocket to pay for the overpriced booze with the other.

"Here ya go." She shoved the bottle into Steve's hand and took her seat again. Steve looked at it before popping the cap off and taking a mouthful.

"Thanks," He breathed, looking out at the baseball field again.

"So, when did you get back from deployment?" Holiday asked conversationally, but groaned when a hit to deep left field was caught. Steve watched her suspiciously, wondering if she was an agent from S.H.I.E.L.D. ordered to watch him at the game.

"Must've been recent then. What branch? I was Army." Holiday brought a handful of popcorn up to her mouth and tossed the lot in. Steve was surprised by her admission, wondering what exactly her military specialty was.

"Uh, same. I'm…on leave right now." Steve answered, recalling some terminology that could be applied to the conversation. O'Conner was momentarily distracted by the batter performing a risky bunt and cheered as the runner on second sped to third.

"Go, go, go, go, go! Yes!" She cheered while losing some popcorn from her bucket.

"So how long until you're deployed again?" Steve asked, he really didn't know what to ask people of this era. He watched her out of the corner of his eye; she finished her beer and set it next to her tennis shoe clad feet. He was beginning to think he had either asked the wrong question or she had simply not heard him.

"Don't know, you know how the Army is, last minute deployments and even then you don't really know where you're going until you get on the plane." Holiday shrugged and adjusted her ball cap to block the rays of the slowly setting sun. "But until then, I'm going to be seeing as many ball games as I can. I'm up to five now." She grinned out at the field and groaned when a base runner got tagged out.

"You're not going to visit family?" The question was out of Steve's mouth so fast that his conscious had to double time it to catch up. He knew he had said the wrong thing when O'Conner frowned at him; the added eyebrow lift was like a metaphorical middle finger.

"Damn, you move fast. You'll scare off all the girls if you keep that shit up, Steve." Holiday laughed as the concerned look on Steve's face morphed into one of embarrassment. "Why don't we enjoy the rest of the game, I'll keep my crass language to myself and you keep your prying inquiries over there? We can meet in the middle somewhere between favorite ball teams and worst movie." Holiday held her hand out again, offering it along with her proposed deal of civil light conversation.

"Yeah…that sounds good." Steve took her much smaller hand in his, both their calluses brushing together in their firm handshake. They settled back into their almost uncomfortable seats and continued watching the game, exchanging a few words here and there.

It was several hours later when the game some coming to an end and well after the sun had sank to reveal the night sky that Steve had finally grown to like Holiday's company. She had taken some getting used to, what with the way things easily spilt out of her mouth. Steve could honestly say that he had enjoyed his time at the ballpark today, and he wondered if he owed that to O'Conner.

"I'd have to say 'The Fighting 69th' is my favorite movie," Steve said as the last batter came up to the plate, the pitcher was worn down, so it was obvious that this batter was going to send his three running mates home. Steve wondered if Holiday would know the movie he was talking about, as it was one that he had briefly seen before…well, before everything.

"Oh, that's a good movie!" Holiday nudged his shoulder perhaps surprised by his choice. She had long since taken her sunglasses off and Steve watched as her milk chocolate eyes surveyed the pitcher.

"'Kiss Them for Me', that's my favorite." Holiday cringed as the batter sent the ball flying, almost taking the pitcher's head with it.

"I don't think I know that one…" Steve urged the runners to pick up the pace as the center fielder scooped up the ball and threw it to second.

"It's about these soldiers that are on leave, they get up to things, booze and girls mostly. There's a love story tangled in the mess too. It came out in '57, you should give it a watch, I'm sure it's on Netflix." Holiday leaned on her knees when the game was finally declared over. The Dodger's had won 6 to 4.

"Why is it called 'Kiss Them for Me', if it's about soldiers?" Steve asked as the players lined up to shake hands. He ignored the part about net flicks, but made a mental note to ask someone about it later. Holiday smiled at Steve and he wondered what she was thinking.

"A couple of months ago, I got a letter from a friend; not what you'd call a close friend….anymore, but he writes to me and I answer 'em. In this letter he says they've been getting' pushed around, bombed. When all of a sudden airplanes were there. So he said 'Alice, every feller you see, army or navy, you kiss 'em for me'." Holiday met Steve's gaze as she delivered the lines that had been long since memorized. Steve didn't say anything, he was rather distracted by the way her lips were full and parted and in the shape of a lovely cupid's bow.

A faint explosion drew both of them out of the romantic air, frantically looking around for the source of the noise. Moments later a louder boom exploded overhead and the night sky lit up in a dazzling display of fireworks. The pair breathed a shaky sigh of relief and shared an awkward laugh.

They didn't say anything as they watched the different colors and patterns dance across the sky, and neither commented on the flinching at each resounding boom. Only once the show was over and all the fans were beginning to flood out of the stadium, did Steve and Holiday start moving.

"I guess I'll see ya later Steve," Holiday said and slowly got caught up in the flow of people and disappeared. Steve wondered if he would ever see the loud mouth woman again.

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**BoB-F: Well... that was chapter one... Let me know what you think and all that jazz.**

**Rath: I'll tell you what I think.. I think-!**

**BoB-F: Yeah, you ARE what I think, ya'know because you're a creation of my thoughts. So go ahead, finish that sentence.**

**Rath: I...Well... I think you should give credit to your friends!**

**BoB-F: One step ahead of ya babe. I'd like to personally mention a few people, one being WizzKiz- who has patiently (and hilariously) betaed this story, and BadWolfOncer- who physically nudged me into writing this story. I thank you both very, very much, and I appreciate all your help.**

**Rath: That was rather touching... but it would have sounded better coming from Jarvis's metallically British voice.**

**BoB-F: Really? You're ruining the moment.**

**Rath: Then you should have made a story about Jarvis.**

**BoB-F: Please Read and Review, while I try to come to a compromise with thorn in my side.**


	2. Chapter 2

**BoB-F: Well, here's chapter two. **

**Rath: Get ready to be sad. Why are all flashbacks sad anyway?**

**BoB-F: ... Well, not _all_ flashbacks are sad.**

**Rath: All of yours are.**

**BoB-F: Oi, I don't like that accusatory voice you're usin'.**

**Rath: Then don't make your flashbacks SAD.**

**BoB-F: Ugh, you're getting irritating.**

**Rath: Who's fault is that?**

**BoB-F: *ignoring* Well, as I've sad, this is a flashback...and yes it's going to be sad. BUT! It also has some comedy elements! **

**Rath: BoB-F also doesn't own the Avengers, she owns Holiday, Roman, and their enemies.**

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**The Aggressor**

**Chapter Two: Roman Holiday**

Holiday sat in the silence of the early morning, gazing out at the mud brick village scape. The sky was in the phase of dawn, where the darkness got lighter, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. She was glad that the sun had yet to rise though, the thought of spending another day at high noon was exhausting. The weather wasn't oppressive yet, it still carried the coolness from the harsh desert night. But a few short hours from now and the sweat would be pouring again.

A shower was all Holiday wanted, well a COLD shower, and hell, a tube of some damn chap-stick wouldn't be turned away either. It never failed that every time she was deployed she would forget such a small, yet useful item. She shifted her legs, careful not to jar the sniper rifle from its position.

She broke her gaze away from the view of the white colored buildings to check on her partner. Roman was still napping in the corner of the very cramped and very filthy mud brick two story home. It had been abandoned, well, it had been procured by herself and Roman three days ago. The bodies of the unfortunate souls were stacked up downstairs and decaying at a rate she'd come to expect from the desert. The smell was particularly awful; there wasn't anything quite like the rancid stench of rotting flesh.

Holiday turned her eyes back to the small window, the first glimpse of light peeked in the distance. She started to hunch back into her previous position when the small radio resting by Holiday's foot crackled with the sound of several male voices, all in a foreign language. Luckily, this was one language that she knew, thanks to 'Rosetta Stone'. Holiday picked up the small receiver and in her best male voice she replied back.

They were asking for an update on the surveillance that the dead men downstairs were supposed to be covering. Holiday and Roman had been feeding them false info since their arrival. Their ops didn't usually call for hints of espionage, but neither of them had lifted a brow at the orders.

The sounds coming from the radio woke Roman from his light slumber, and he joined her at the broken out window that was facing their targets hideout. He didn't say anything; listening to the quick reply from the radio. Instead, he picked up the binoculars that had been resting around his neck and gazed out the window. Roman easily zeroed in on the window some distance away and happily nudged Holiday's shoulder.

Holiday left the radio forgotten and lined her sights up, tracking her target- or targets in this case. Sitting pretty in the front of the, window arguing, were all three of their targets. They were all in their mid-forties, and sporting beards in an attempt to skew their features. But their faces were so ingrained in her mind, she would be able to pick their images out of the crowds at Wrigley Field.

"So, I'm thinking our first meal back has it either be Italian or the greasiest, fattest, double bacon cheese burger I can find." Holiday grinned as she squinted into the scope; it was her turn to pick the food they ate upon their return. She flipped the safety on her rifle, thinking about that juicy burger and the tallest cup of 'Coca Cola' that New York would allow.

"Italian sounds great," Roman agreed to her first suggestion, mostly to piss Holiday off.

"Yeah? Well too damn bad, we're getting burgers. Now move your fat ass; I have some work to do." Holiday shifted her position and took aim. The three men were still arguing animatedly, with sweeping arm movements and posturing. She inhaled deeply, steadying her body, and squeezed the trigger of her gun. The shot barely made a noise, thanks to the suppressor screwed to the barrel.

The bullet ripped through the air and into the heads of two of the targets. Holiday took aim at the last man as he started to scream, tracking him as he moved. She squeezed the trigger again; the man was dead before he reached the door. Holiday kept her sights trained on the building, watching for trouble.

"This is Sweetpea to Sourpatch, we're ready for a Roman-Holiday." Roman waited on baited breath for the voice on the other end to reply. It was always shit for waiting. He was glad their mission was over, but he always marveled at how easy, Holiday made sniping look.

"Sweetpea, this is Sourpatch, we're bringing the limo around. Rendezvous is fifteen klicks to the Northeast." Holiday smiled as she brought her rifle away from the window; she loved it when the 'limo' was involved with extraction. The limo was in fact the best form of extraction ever invented, as it was two guys flying winged-jetpacks.

"It's Clara's birthday in two weeks, right?" Holiday asked as she grabbed her pack, which was now filled with protein bar wrappers and empty field ration bags. Roman already had his pack on, but he stopped to pick up the jug of gasoline that they had found outside. He walked backwards as he poured the container of gasoline all over the room; it was best to destroy any evidence that they had been here.

"She's gonna be two, and Carlotta is already six. Those kids are growing up too damn fast." Roman shoved at his partner to get her out of the strongly smelling room, and pulled a shiny silver zippo lighter from his pocket.

"Just think, prom is just around the corner." Holiday led the way out, rifle at the ready, and keeping a look out for any possible enemies. Roman followed quickly, having thrown the lighter into the petrol soaked room. He joined her outside the mud brick with his assault rifle raised at his hip.

"Don't fuckin' joke about that prom shit. I just want my babies to stay babies," Roman growled, he was beyond stressed at the thought of having to deal with his daughters dating. Holiday didn't reply, stepping away from their burning hideout, and taking a quick survey of their surroundings. Their extraction point was just over the few hills in the distance; on foot it would take the two of them about three hours to make it to their destination.

The midday sun beat down on the pair of soldiers as they trudged through the dense sand. They had been walking for well over two hours now, and their extraction point was finally in sight. Holiday had finally stopped teasing Roman about his darling daughters, more out a need to keep the molten sand out of her mouth than any sort of pity.

Roman, however, was running at the mouth (having tied his scarf around his face), talking about the plans he had for his wife, Camila. The happy couple were due for a mini romantic getaway, and as soon as they got back he was going to pawn the kids off on his mother. Holiday smiled as she listened to the man talk, it wasn't too long ago that she wished it was her that he was rambling on about. But, Holiday knew that her brief attraction was because of proximity, rather than any actual romantic feelings.

Holiday and Roman were cresting another hill when a bullet whizzed by their heads. They grabbed each other and slammed into the boiling sand. The two snipers exchanged quick responses of "I'm good" before a volley of bullets peppered the ground in front of their sketchy hiding spot.

"Son of a bitch. Get your grenades ready," Holiday whispered harshly to Roman. She hated getting caught off guard, and she hated being shot at even more. Roman unclipped three grenades from his vest, and handed one to Holiday.

"Did you get a good look before they almost gave us a haircut?" Roman asked, quickly checking his gun and flipping the safety off. Holiday mimicked his movements with her own gun, and winked at her moderately worried partner.

"You're lucky that I have such good eyes. There's about fifteen assholes with guns, give or take a few, one vehicle, and two RPGs. Oh…and there's a tent." When she said 'tent' she smiled widely, like it was the premier of a long-awaited movie or something.

"Just shut the hell up, and start throwing." Roman rolled his eyes at the woman that he called his best friend; sometimes he thought that she was quite the idiot. Both hunkered down further, pulling the pins on their grenades. Roman threw his first; a smoke grenade that would hopefully disorientate the bad guys. Holiday hurled hers just a few short seconds later; her grenade, however, was of the explosive variety.

Neither moved until the second grenade went off, and when it did, screams and yelling erupted from the other side of the sand dune. Holiday hefted her rifle up and positioned it against her shoulder; she didn't wait for Roman to join her before she started shooting the men that weren't trapped in the haze of smoke.

Roman was doing the smart thing, contacting their ride to let them know that there was trouble on the ground. Holiday cursed as a stray bullet slammed into her shoulder. Who the hell fired at random while encased in smoke? Roman hurried to his injured friend, expecting the worst. But when he tried to check her wound, she shoved him away- that was when he knew that she was going to be okay.

"Throw the other fucking grenade! I want to go home, and eat a cheeseburger _in_ the shower. Make my dreams come true, Roman." Holiday shifted her shoulder, testing the pain. She winced, but squinted through the pain, and brought her gun back up.

"I don't think that's very sanitary," Roman countered and tossed the flash-bang grenade into the dwindling crowd of enemies. Holiday paused in her gunfire to pinch her eyes closed and threw her hands over her ears to muffle the impending bang.

Holiday had barely opened her eyes when a flashlight shaped object fell in between her and Roman. Holiday looked Roman in the eyes, his hands still clamped tight over his ears. She threw herself at him, protecting him from the sickening flash of white light of the grenade.

Holiday's ears were ringing so much that she felt like she was going to wretch. Roman rolled her off him, considerably in much better shape than his partner. Holiday was bleeding from both ears, and struggled to stay upright; there was no way she was going to be able to shoot anymore.

Roman made the choice to call their ride, it was the only way to get them out without dying. He steadied Holiday by the shoulder, using his free hand to grab his radio receiver. He rushed to get the words out; he could hear a commotion from the other side of their piss poor barricade.

When he got a confirmation, he tapped Holiday on the cheek, harder than he'd meant to. She brought her constantly blinking eyes up to his and followed the hand he put in her direct line of sight. They both knew American Sign Language, as it helped them to communicate in silence. Roman formed words with his hands, letting her know that their ride was on its way.

Holiday nodded, not trusting her mouth to keep the bile in her stomach at bay. Roman patted her shoulder, but knew that he had to keep them safe; to buy them time. Holiday nodded, but feared it was lost among her wobbling disorientation. She had enough sense about her to put pressure on her wound, though.

Roman took point at the crest of the dune, assault rifle poised on the smattering of men below. His gun was a lot louder than Holiday's, and it gave away his position immediately. He took out two more; thankfully pegging the one with the RPG.

A noise from overhead had Roman glancing skyward, praying that it was their ride out of this hellhole. Two specks flew above their position, trying to locate the snipers. Roman ditched the firefight, scrambling for his pack. Inside were the flares that he needed to set off so the guys up top could pinpoint their location.

Roman lit the flare, and shoved it into Holiday's hand. She was slowly regaining some of her hearing, and motioned to Roman that she was fine. Holiday raised the flare as high as she could, waving it to get the para-rescuers attention.

Roman picked up his gun again, shooting at the enemy, taking out another one. The duo of para-rescuers circled above, descending in a tight formation; they had finally spotted the pair of snipers. Roman turned to look at Holiday, worried that her wound was worse than it appeared.

A searing explosion of pain erupted in, Roman's neck. It hit him so hard that he was knocked flat on his back; his hands went to the pain, gripping it tightly. His neck was slick with blood, and he tried to gulp in air around the feeling of drowning in his throat. He rolled over, blood pouring out of his mouth.

Holiday crawled to Roman, leaving the flare forgotten in the sand. She moved his hands away, replacing them with her own. How had everything gone so wrong? Blood leaked through her fingers like a faucet had been left on. Why wouldn't it stop?

Roman gazed up at Holiday, eyes wide with the fear of dying, the fear of leaving his girls behind; he shut his eyes at the thought of his girls. The sound of the para-rescuers landing was lost on the two friends, one afraid of being left alone, the other afraid of leaving.

Holiday was shoved roughly aside, the bulky form of a man replacing her. The man was already in the process of wrapping Roman's neck expertly, and the other para-rescuer was kneeling beside her. His mouth was moving, but she could only make out the vague tone of his voice; her gaze shifted back to her partner.

Her para-rescuer followed her eyes, and met those of his own partner. He shook his head, eyes closed; the universal sign that someone wasn't going to make it. Fear rose up in, Holiday's throat, a burning in her sternum that spread like a vice around her throat. She couldn't breathe, even as she tried to pull air into her lungs; it was impossible.

"Roman..." She reached through the small distance between them, grabbing his hand; desperately trying to breathe. The para-rescuers were exchanging words, ones that she couldn't hear. Roman's weak hand was patting his chest feebly, but Holiday knew what he wanted.

She reached into his pocket with hands shaking like a point five earthquake. Holiday pulled out the photograph of Roman's family, now sticky with his own blood. She held up the picturing of his smiling family so he could see it. His gazed zeroed in on his girls, the ones he knew he wouldn't be returning to.

Holiday's shoulders were grabbed from behind, breaking her concentration on Roman. The para-rescuer was holding a mask, one that pilots wore in the cockpits of jets. She knew he wanted her to put it on, but Roman was still staring, transfixed on the photo in her hand.

The other para-rescuer glanced behind them with, urgency on his face. He went to Roman, putting a mask on him and hefting him into the harness with the help of his friend. Holiday put the mask on her face; she knew they had to go, but the breaking in her chest was a heavy weight.

Once the two men had Roman secured, they turned to Holiday, who was struggling to stand. It took moments for her to be laced up in another harness, her gun held tightly in her hands, and the photo of, Roman's family tucked into her vest pocket.

Silver wings unfolded from each of the men's backs, and in moments they were leaving the ground. The landscape below would have been a marvel if Holiday had been able to see it through her waterfall of tears. The hot liquid pulled at the bottom of her mask, reminding her of the hot spill of Roman's blood on her hands.

* * *

**BoB-F: So... I'm sorry about that.**

**Rath: See! It's sad! *passes out tissues to the readers in need***

**BoB-F: It gets better!**

**Rath: It would already _be_ better if you had just wrote about Jar-**

**BoB-F: Are you still on about that?**

**Rath: Still on about- YOU SAID YOU WOULD TALK ABOUT IT.**

**BoB-F: And we will... just not for like... several more chapters.**

**Rath: Several sounds ominous.**

**BoB-F: Well, I wouldn't know why. Anyway! Please read and review, I like hearing what everyone thinks. **


	3. Chapter 3

**BoB-F: It's taken awhile to get over my procrastination and post this chapter, I apologize.**

**Rath: You better be sorry after making all those readers tear up from the last chapter.**

**BoB-F: But it makes for good story! And it's apart of Holiday's character, it had to be done.**

**Rath: Killing her best friend had to be done? I had no idea you could be so cruel.**

**BoB-F: o_o Hey now, don't be like that. Don't make the readers dislike me.**

**Rath: Well, if they didn't already dislike you for killing Roman than they definitely dislike you for such a late update.**

**BoB-F: I'm going to ignore you now, Star Trek Into Darkness is on anyway.**

**Rath: I knew you were obsessed with that Benedict Cindersnipe guy!**

**BoB-F: ... So, uh, yeah...I don't own Avengers, but I do own Holiday, Roman, and any other OC. I also don't own Star Trek..or Benedict CUMBERBATCH.**

* * *

**The Aggressor**

**Chapter Three: Decisions**

Holiday O'Conner had never had trouble sleeping, never had any traumatic dreams that were the result of her many years of military servitude, but waking up in a cold sweat was something that Holiday was quickly coming to terms with. Then again, losing her partner and long standing friend would do that, she supposed. She wasn't ready to deal with all the trials that were being set in front of her. She wasn't ready to deal with PTSD, the loss of her best friend, living on her own, and hell, she wasn't even capable of standing without the use of her hearing aid yet. It was all so frustrating and nearly mind crippling, but she pressed forward with her life.

She grabbed the flesh colored device off her coffee table and tucked it into her ear. Holiday barely registered the noise of rustling as she adjusted the fit, then she turned the little unit on. The noise that she heard was muted, as if it were at the distant end of a tunnel, but it was better than nothing.

It was four in the morning, but her bad dreams had encroached on her sleep, and she was adamant on not having a repeat performance twice in a day. So she stood slowly, knowing that her equilibrium was still out of whack, and she really wasn't in the mood to lose her balance and crash into the coffee table again. With tired steps, she maneuvered herself through the mess that was her apartment.

It was filled with wrappers and bags from various restaurants, tipped over beer bottles, pizza boxes, Chinese takeout containers, three pairs of shoes (all hers), and the worn furniture that she had picked up at a garage sale.

She made it to the tiny kitchenette with an ease she was slowly regaining, and grabbed the one glass she always had set aside for water to fill it from the tap at the sink. She realized for the hundredth time that she needed to do the dishes, which were piled haphazardly in the sink. She shoved the dishes around until she could angle her glass to fill it with water; it was pure laziness.

Holiday refused the sigh that wanted to escape her parted lips. Where had her motivation gone? She knew that she needed to clean, she also knew that she needed to start going to her rehabilitation classes to work on her balance, as well as the tightness in her shoulder from being shot. Maybe she was depressed?

She mulled that thought over in her head as she sipped at her water. She slept when she could, which was becoming less and less because of the dreams. She didn't have any energy to go shopping for groceries or to clean. She also hadn't been picking up the phone when the rehab place called. Yeah, she was probably depressed. Looking around her apartment again, Holiday finally sighed. Making up her mind, she set the empty cup on the counter, and started cleaning her filthy apartment in silence.

It was finally a reasonable time for normal waking people when Holiday put the last clean dish away. Her apartment now smelled lemony fresh and the counters didn't have a speck of dirt or grime on them. She wasn't sure if she felt accomplished or not, but she did know that she was hungry beyond reason. Holiday picked up her cellphone (a dinky little black flip phone that was three years old) and punched in the number for her favorite pizza place. It was ran by a family from Ireland; they constantly argued, but they made the best three meat pizza in all of New York.

A heavily accented voice answered after several rings. Holiday imagined that they waited for a pause in their current argument to answer the phone. A thunderous noise exploded outside just as she opened her mouth to politely place her order. Holiday turned to her window to see what the hell was going on, even with her bad ear she'd heard that.

"What the…" Her window provided an unobstructed view of the gaping black hole in the sky that was spewing out people-sized, flying objects. The civilians running and screaming in the streets was the next thing that she took note of. Holiday ended the call, the hellacious round of voices yelling at each other was making it hard for her to focus on what was happening. Needing more information, Holiday turned to her TV, switching it on and scrolling to the local news station.

Reports jumped back and forth between close ups of grey blue humanoids and…a team of very mismatched people that were trying to combat them. Holiday gazed out the window again, watching a monstrous worm whale…_thing_ pass through the giant opening in the sky. Holiday's lethargic mood dissipated in an instant and she stormed out of her merger living room. She had made up her mind for the second time that day.

Holiday hurried to her bedroom, going to her closet and yanking her desert combat uniform from its hanger. It still had blood on it from her last mission, but she choose to overlook it. The uniform would provide a leadership role to the civilians, and make yelling out orders a cake walk. Holiday tugged the uniform on, leaving the jacket open and her helmet swinging from her fist. She marched back into the living room, plopped down on the couch and stuffed her feet into her boots.

Once fully dressed with her helmet resting on her head, she reached into the drawer of her end table. Holiday pulled out a handgun, one that was standard issue for the local police, and holstered it. She felt like she was wasting time as the noises from outside grew louder than the ones coming from her TV. She pocketed her cellphone as she headed for the door, and picked up her Bor sniper rifle and ammunitions case on her way out. Holiday didn't bother locking her door; if things went to shit then she likely wouldn't have an apartment to return to.

Holiday didn't pass anyone on her way up, but when she got to the roof several of her neighbors were already there watching the scene unfold. No one turned at her appearance until she reached the edge of the building. Worried faces turned to her, wondering if she knew what was going on.

Maybe her uniform wasn't such a good idea after all…

"I'm going to need you all to stand back," she told them, gesturing with her arm as she sat the case of bullets down. Many did, but a woman holding her toddler stepped forward; hope in her eyes.

"What's going on, is everything going to be okay?" The woman asked, tears welling up in her eyes; wrapping her arms around her child a little tighter. Holiday looked back at the city, a lot of destruction was occurring in a short span of time; she had to be honest with the woman, it didn't look good.

"I don't know, ma'am. But I'm trained for this, I'll keep you all safe for as long as I can." Holiday's voice was determined, and the woman nodded and stepped away. Holiday had been wrong; the uniform was a great idea.

Holiday looked around the rooftop, it was surrounded by a chain-link fence and the only high ground that allowed for the best angles was atop the entrance to the roof. She tossed her ammunitions case up first and turned back to the civilians, having spotted two stout teenage boys in the group.

"Hey guys, care to give me a boost?" Holiday motioned to the stair cap. The young men rushed over, making a cradle with their hands. Holiday stepped up and they hoisted her to higher ground. "Thanks, keep a look out for me," Holiday ordered and they dutifully followed her words.

Holiday set up her gun stand in record time, loading it and adjusting the scope. She left her ammunitions case open as she hunkered down, prone on her stomach. She pulled herself into the gun, squinting into the scope and started tracking the mayhem.

The monsters (they looked a lot like Orcs from Lord of the Rings to her) were climbing the sides of buildings and flying about on flying…crafts. UFOs; who would have thought? Holiday saw a few of the friendlies; one being Iron Man, the others were just miscellaneous do-gooders in odd outfits. She flicked the safety off on her gun and called out a warning to the civilians that she was going to start shooting. Scaring a bunch of people that were already terrified never worked out well in the end.

Holiday took aim at a baddie on the side of one of the buildings; taking a breath, she pulled the trigger. The shot was noisy, but it didn't half register to her. The creature dropped like a sack of bricks, and she didn't waste any time dispatching the others that were hanging about like monkeys. The toddler began to cry at the sudden noise, but Holiday didn't allow it to distract her from her task.

Holiday ignored the giant creature that was somehow flying in the air (she would have guessed magic, but some science shit was probably more on the money), she knew her bullets wouldn't affect the thing; it wasn't like she had antitank or antiaircraft ammo. Sometimes she wished she had gone for the Barrett .50 Cal like all the newbies did, but she shrugged the thought off and shouldered up to her rifle again.

She would do what she could; snipe the stragglers and the ones that were in pursuit of the friendlies in the air. Holiday didn't have a good enough vantage point to help out with the ones on the ground, but she knew that if she moved she would be risking the lives of the people around her. So she stayed put, hoping her presence eased the fears of the people.

Steve ducked out of the way when the slack body of one of the Chitauri nearly fell on him. He looked up, seeing several more beginning to rain down. He blocked the mighty fist that one of the creatures on the ground aimed at him, returning the blow in kind. Steve surveyed the downed creatures that had once occupied the side of the building. There were no arrows to be found, nor did they appear to be…smashed. These creatures had been shot – with a high powered rifle, if he were to guess. Steve internally thanked whoever was taking the initiative; they needed all the help they could get.

Holiday had run out of bullets before the battle was over, and now she sat on the top of the building with the others, watching the end of the invasion through binoculars. She'd never seen anything like the Hulk; he had really saved the day, taking out those giant whale-worms. And now, Iron Man was guiding a missile through the wormhole. Holiday tracked him for as long as she could, but he eventually disappeared. Her hands tightened around the binoculars, hoping everything was going to turn out okay.

The ruckus from the radio and the civilians had created a silence that Holiday was suspended in. She was rooting for Iron Man to come flying out of that wormhole; she wanted this win, to see the hope flare in the peoples' eyes. _Heroes_ did that, and the people of New York needed a hero like Tony Stark. But they needed him alive.

It felt like the whole city had stopped breathing when that red-and-gold clad man fell from the sky, like a tiny pinprick. And then the collective of the city breathed again. The younger people whooped and jumped about, and the elders cheered with pools of tears in their eyes. It felt like everything was going to be perfectly alright. But Holiday was already thinking ahead, about the removal of the creatures, the rebuilding.

She was also thinking about that pizza she never ordered.

* * *

**BoB-F: Pizza sounds SO good right now. **

**Rath: Any food sounds good right now.**

**BoB-F: o.o You should learn how to cook.**

**Rath: Why? To further promote your laziness?**

**BoB-F: Jackass. No food for you then.**

**Rath: Oh, hold on. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for.**

**BoB-F: And it wasn't written, smoke-signaled, telegraphed, or prophesized.**

**Rath: ...If I'm quiet, will you feed me?**

**BoB-F: Only if you watch Topgear and Kitchen Nightmares with me (I don't own those either).**

**Rath: -_- ...alright...**

**BoB-F: YAY! :D I hope you lovely readers liked this chapter! **

**Rath: Please read and review...and *whispers* send food.**

**BoB-F: What was that?**

**Rath: Uh..I like the Stig?**


End file.
